LITMIR.BIZ

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arrived two months earlier. He didn’t have much of a knack for cards, so he supported himself with his pistol work. Found it easier to spot a fella with a mess of chips in front of him, wait till he drank too much, then pick a fight. The winner typically claimed the loser’s possessions.

      Jack and the cowboy headed out to the road, and this time half the saloon followed. The rest still didn’t consider the action good enough. The payout on the cowboy wasn’t very good because nobody thought the newbie’s luck could possibly last another day.

      They stood back to back and walked off ten paces. This time, Jack was a little smoother and more deliberate in his draw. Meanwhile, the cowboy jammed his hand into his holster and plucked up his gun, letting off two screaming shots in rapid succession. Both struck the ground in front of Jack. He flinched but maintained his composure. He had learned it was better to squeeze the trigger instead of jerking it. The cowboy had just leveled his barrel to send the third bullet into Jack’s chest when his own shirt reddened like a rose blossoming from his heart. He fell to the dust. Jack went back inside and ate some more pork chops.

      Each day, Jeremiah called for a new volunteer, and each day Jack faced him. Wasn’t any choice in the matter. With just a single bullet in the chamber, he couldn’t raise the barrel at the man who handed him the gun. There were always two men beside Jeremiah who would’ve gunned him down. His best hope was to keep firing away at whoever they put in front of him. The first few men weren’t very good, but it gave him a chance to learn. The best living gunfighters had upward of thirty kills under their belt, but those were spaced out by months and sometimes years. Jack had the advantage of drawing every single day, which allowed him to fix his flaws while they were still fresh in his mind. And since he had just the one bullet, he put every bit of his concentration into aiming it.

      At first Jeremiah was glad to be able to test folks out and separate the wheat from the chaff. He could see their weaknesses when they drew against the kid, and note if someone dipped their shoulder before they pulled. He figured he’d get the upper hand on whoever gunned the kid down. The thing was that nobody could, so all that information went to waste when they fell. Also, Jack learned something new every day. His hand got steadier and quicker. He didn’t even bother asking for breakfast. Just marched straight up and stuck out his hand for the gun and the bullet, then he waited outside to see who’d follow. It didn’t escape Jeremiah’s attention that he was making a bona fide gunslinger out of the boy, who’d likely be even harder to control.

      Everyone else found it a nice change of pace to start out the day with a gunfight. Gave folks something to look forward to, a reason to get out of bed. We all gathered beside the road each morning, even a few of the Indians who camped out in the dusty plains surrounding the town. People started to root for the little fella, and eventually the betting pool swung to favor him against the hardened outlaws who were just in it for free grub and drinks. After a few weeks, Jack gained a lifetime’s worth of experience. Then the day came when there were no more volunteers to go up against him.

      “All right, boy, you ain’t gotta go against no one today,” Jeremiah announced. “Drink and eat as much as you like. Nobody’ll hassle you. But tomorrow, you go against me.”

      Everyone was itching to see the matchup. Jeremiah had been studying Jack for a month, but Jack had been practicing every day of that month. Wasn’t even the teensiest bit nervous anymore. His aim was dead on and his hand as steady as a post. But Jeremiah didn’t intend to get hoodwinked by another thief dressed as a priest. He had found one weakness that he could use to his advantage.

      Jack was only given the one bullet each day, so he couldn’t risk aiming at his opponent’s head, where a couple of inches in either direction might miss it entirely. And he couldn’t fire off a quick shot at a fella’s legs, since a wounded man might still overpower him. He always shot at the center of the chest, where the target was the widest.

      That afternoon, I overheard Jeremiah telling the blacksmith to mold him a sheet of tin. The next morning at breakfast time, Jeremiah was sitting at the bar with his back to the door. He was all by himself, carelessly gobbling down a plateful of beans. A glint of metal shined from under his collar. He’d gotten up early so he could have the blacksmith fit it in place while everyone was still asleep. If it succeeded in stopping Jack’s first bullet, he’d have all the time in the world to aim, and since he knew right where the bullet was going, he had extra metal layered in the center. Probably wouldn’t stop a buffalo gun, but it’d do for a rusty old Colt. It was a pretty good plan... till Jack came through the door an hour earlier than usual.

      The boy was through playing by another man’s rules—that much was clear. He grabbed the sheriff’s hair from behind and yanked his head back, exposing his neck to the ceiling.

      “Ain’t gonna be any sheriffs parsing out the bullets no more!” Jack said as he pulled out the Comanchero’s knife. He must’ve pocketed it the first day he’d arrived, when he killed the half-breed and collapsed on top of him. We thought he was just twitching with fear but he was really fleecing that knife from the body. Ever since then, the boy had been biding his time, trying to stay alive till he got close enough and no one was by Jeremiah’s side. Jack ran the blade across the sheriff’s throat before he could say a damn thing.

      By the time Jeremiah’s men arrived, Jack had already helped himself to his pretty pearl-handled pistols. He smiled at them tauntingly. They wouldn’t have pulled on him if he only had two bullets, let alone twelve. The next week, Jack shot one of the men for fun. The week after, he shot the other. He had learned from Jeremiah not to trust anyone, but also not to grow soft. He made a point of going up against someone at least once a week to keep sharp—and he wasn’t too fickle about who. Unlike Jeremiah, he had no problem with shooting untested newbies. Felt it kept him on his toes. And the bullying he’d endured didn’t make him sympathize with the misfortunes of others. He turned into the meanest son of a bitch in town, so nobody ever mentioned sheriffs around him again.

      * * * *

      “I still say you need someone to uphold the rules around here,” argued the newbie with the nickel-sized bullet hole in his temple.

      “Oh, and what rules would you suggest?” I asked.

      “Well, no shootin’ each other for one. You fellas are playing for keeps here. Ain’t like before when we wasn’t sure what happened after you died. This is it!”

      “So, what if someone accuses you of cheatin’, like the fella you said put that bullet in your head?”

      “Could wrestle,” he suggested.

      “And if a fella ain’t much for wrestlin’?”

      “Well then, he shouldn’t call nobody a cheater. And if somebody calls him a cheater, he could just go to the sheriff.”

      “Sounds like you got it all worked out,” I said. “Lemme ask you another question—how’s a fella get a bullet in the side of his head from an argument at a card table? Weren’t you lookin’ at the man when he called you a cheater? Or did he somehow sneak up beside ya?”

      “No. I mean yes.” He fidgeted nervously. “I guess I kinda turned away when he shot me.”

      “Is that so?”

      “It happened real fast.”

      “Thought you said the last thing you remembered was that you drew and reckoned he done the same. You telling me you drew your pistol and looked away before you even pulled the trigger?”

      “I dunno! What ya want from me, mister?”

      “Why’d ya do it?” I pressed him.

      “Do what? I tole ya, mister. He ’cused me a cheatin’. Then he shot me ’fore I could shoot him.”

      “Did he do it real close, or was he sitting across the table?”

      “He was across the table,” he blubbered. “We was sitting as far apart as them two fellas over there.”

      “Interesting.” I nodded.

      “How’s that?”

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